


Resurrection

by thefriendlymushroom



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Daredevil Season 3, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Marriage Proposal, POV Second Person, Post-Defenders, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25546339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefriendlymushroom/pseuds/thefriendlymushroom
Summary: Matt is dead. Until he isn't.Request by anon: "Do you think you can do a Matthew Murdock x Reader where they were in like a pre-exisiting relationship, but then Defenders happen and it is like set in Season 3 time and she is finding out that Matt is back from Karen and Foggy instead of Matt himself. Like some hurt/comfort are those the words when you want something angsty but like you want fluff in the end but not like full fluff and not like a bittersweet ending"
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Resurrection

_You curled up with Matt on the couch as gentle music floated through your speakers. The attack on Midland Circle was going to happen any day now and you were spending as much time as you could with your boyfriend, unsure of what might happen in the coming days. **If** there would be time together after. It wasn’t something either of you were willing to voice, but the thought rested heavy on both your shoulders. _

_Matt played with your hands. “I was thinking about the future…” he tried to bring up casually._

_You cut him off. “I thought we agreed to not think about what might or might not happen,” you said, sitting up to better face him._

_“I—we did. But this is something I’ve been thinking about for a long time and I want to ask before…” Before I die. Even without saying them, the words hung heavy in the air. Matt fished into his pocket and pulled something out. He kept his fist tight around it so you couldn’t tell what it was. “I’d have a lot of regrets if I didn’t ask, so…” He slid off of the couch and knelt in front of you. He unfurled his hand to reveal a beautiful ring. You gasped. “Will you marry me?”_

The memory played in your head as you sat with Karen and Foggy in the middle of the precinct breakroom, waiting for the return of your heroes. You stared at the ring Matt had pushed on your finger that night, watching as it caught the light. He used it as a promise. _When_ he made it back to you, you would get married. It wasn’t going to be a matter of _if_ , but _when._

Karen sat next to you as she clutched your hand tightly. It almost hurt, but you were squeezing back just as hard. This wait was _killing_ you as each moment past without you knowing whether or not your boyfriend—your _fiancé_ —was alive.

You quickly stood when someone entered the room. _They were back!_ Your heart pounded in your chest as you waited for Matt to arrive. Jessica entered the room first, looking exhausted as she searched the room for her sister. Luke and Claire stepped through the door soon after, holding each other’s hand tightly. Danny and Colleen followed soon after. Colleen’s white jacket was covered in blood. Your heart constricted in your chest.

Now it was Matt’s turn.

You stared at the door, waiting.

And waiting.

_A n d w a i t i n g._

Your world crumbled with each second until the floor fell from under you. Your knees buckled and you clutched the table for strength. But your legs couldn’t hold you up for very much longer. A warm hand under your elbow kept you from falling.

Luke.

You turned to him, a question on your lips. Where was Matt? Maybe he got held up outside? He had to change out of that ridiculous costume before walking in, right? Right? The words died before you could speak them, but Luke answered them anyway.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said and the phrase pierced your heart like a white-hot knife.

You shook your head, unwilling to believe it. Unwilling to let your tears fall. You turned to Foggy and Karen for confirmation. Luke had to be wrong. But Karen was crying into Foggy’s shoulder. The look on his face was heartbroken. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the door. Still waiting.

You dimly noticed Claire stepping by your side. You tried to make out the words she was saying, but you couldn’t focus. _Matt is dead_. You were pushed into a seat. _Matt is dead_. She knelt in front of you. Her lips were still moving. _Matt is dead_.

**_Matt is dead_ ** **.**

Your pain, your anger, your _agony_ pooled in your stomach until it tore through your chest in a heart-wrenching scream. You collapsed in on yourself, sobbing, until there was nothing left in you.

* * *

That was months ago.

Matt’s body was never recovered.

Without a body, you couldn’t bury him and you were left without closure.

You avoided the apartment as much as you could—leaving first thing in the morning and staying out well past dark. The grief was too much for you to be there any longer, surrounded by _him_ , his things, his clothes. Karen helped when she could. She would drop off food for you and allowed you to sleep on the couch in her office more times than you could count. Foggy would check in occasionally, but he could rarely bring himself to step foot inside Matt’s apartment.

More often than not, you found yourself visiting the church where Matt grew up. Catholicism wasn’t really your thing, but, oddly enough, you felt closer to Matt when you were here. The pain in your heart lessened and you finally felt like you were able to breathe. It also helped that Father Lantom wouldn’t constantly question you about your well-being, like everyone else you knew. Occasionally, he’d even bring you coffee and donut holes from the fellowship hall. And other times, he’d join you there in the very last pew, offering you silent companionship as you mourned.

You weren’t entirely sure why you found comfort in the church. The crucified Jesus statue at the front of the hall intimidated you and you were never entirely sure what was being depicted in the stained-glass windows. But you could _feel_ Matt here at Clinton Church. You even thought you could sometimes catch glimpses of him out of the corner of your eye, but you knew the thought was ridiculous. Whenever you turned, there was only shadow and you knew your mind was playing tricks on you.

It didn’t help when Karen swore up and down that some masked vigilante she saw _had_ to be Matt. An argument had nearly exploded when she first brought the topic up and you hadn’t talked much with her since. You didn’t want your hopes to brought up, only for your heart to be shattered all over again whenever they found Matt’s body at the bottom of Midland Circle. You didn’t know if you could handle that kind of pain again, so you refused to believe it.

You didn’t want to believe even when Foggy told you himself.

You were surprised when Foggy knocked on your door early one morning. You were just about to have a quick breakfast and leave for the day when he arrived. “Foggy, what are you doing here?” you asked as you opened the door. He was dressed in a suit and tie and held his briefcase in his hand. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Good morning to you, too,” he tried to joke. He ran a hand over his hair. His eyes were red and tired. When he sat on your couch, his leg wouldn’t stop bouncing. He was upset. “You should sit down. We need to talk.”

Panic filtered through your chest. Your heart pounded. You quickly hurried to the chair opposite Foggy, stumbling in your haste. “What? Why?” You gasped. “Did—did they find him?” Your words were barely audible.

Foggy shook his head. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You weren’t sure how to feel—were you relieved? Should you be upset? Were you angry?

“No, it’s, uh… It’s…” Foggy stumbled to find the correct words. “Matt’s alive?” he said at last, but it sounded more like a question.

You quickly stood, turning to face away from him. You scrubbed your hands over your face before crossing your arms protectively over your chest. “Get out.”

“No, Y/N, wait—” He placed a hand on your shoulder and you angrily spun to face him.

“ _No_ , Foggy!” you exclaimed, tears welling in your eyes. “We’ve been through this! Matt is _gone_ , okay? I don’t want it to be true as much as you do, but at some point—” Your voice cracked. “At some point we have to face the facts. At some point, we have to—we have to realize that…that an entire _building_ fell on him.” You throat grew tighter with each word and it was getting difficult to speak. “H-How could one man survive that? And if he did, why wouldn’t he…why wouldn’t he—” Your voice finally gave out, the pressure in your throat so tight you could hardly breathe. You pressed a hand against your mouth, trying to will the tears away.

Foggy finished for you. “Why wouldn’t he call us? Why wouldn’t he come see us? Why wouldn’t he give us a sign?” You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded. “I asked myself the same things. I honestly thought Karen might’ve been going crazy when she suggested that maybe he was out there. But she’s right.” Your eyes flew open. “Matt, he…he found me last night and—”

“He found you? And you saw him? In the flesh?” You needed the clarification. Maybe Foggy just saw someone who _looked_ like him or was imagining things.

“I saw him, clear as day. I hugged him, I felt him, he was _real_. He was _alive_.”

You took a stumbling step back, trying to process what you had just been told. Foggy kept talking, saying something about Fisk, but you weren’t paying attention. Your energy was spent trying to wrap your head around the fact that Matt was alive.

You knew you should have been relieved, happy even, but you were angry. Angry he didn’t come to find you to serve as messenger he was alive. Angry he didn’t come to find you at all. Angry that he had been hiding this whole time. Whenever you had entertained the idea that Matt was alive, you always imagined that maybe he was in a coma or had amnesia and that was why he never called, never came home. Where had he even been staying this whole time? You knew for a fact he wasn’t coming to the apartment…

And then it hit you.

The church. He had been staying at the church.

You raced to find some shoes and threw a jacket over your shoulders. “Where are you going?” Foggy demanded.

“I’m gonna go talk to him,” you answered, lacing up your sneakers.

“To who? Matt? I don’t even know where he is!”

“I do,” you threw over your shoulder as you made your way out of the apartment. You slammed the door behind you.

You didn’t hear Foggy muttering as you left, “Sure, Y/N, that’s fine. Leave me in the dark. I’ll lock up your apartment. No worries.” On his way out, he stole the pieces of toast you had abandoned on the kitchen counter.

* * *

You stormed into the church, stomping your way up to Father Lantom’s office. He had barely said “come in” before you were throwing open the door and striding to his desk. “Where is he?” you demanded before the Father could get a word out of his mouth.

“Where’s who?”

You anger and desperation nearly washed out of you then and doubt crept in. Maybe you were wrong and Matt hadn’t been here. Maybe Foggy was wrong and he wasn’t even alive. “Please don’t play dumb with me,” you begged. “I need to see him. I need to see Matt.”

He opened his mouth to speak—maybe to question how you knew, maybe to question your sanity—but then he shut it again. Sighing, he stood and closed the book on his desk. “Come with me,” he said and he led you out of the room.

He led you to the church’s basement, which you had never been to before. As you reached the last flight of stairs, you nearly (quite literally) ran into a nun. It was Sister Maggie, you realized. She had offered you condolences on one of your first visits here. She glanced you over before raising an eyebrow at Father Lantom. “It’s time,” he offered. But time for what, you weren’t very sure. Sister Maggie sighed and continued her way up the stairs. Father Lantom ushered you forward, but didn’t follow as you rounded the corner.

You gasped when you laid eyes on Matt for the first time in months. He looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes and he was a little paler than usual. You took a small step forward and his head darted up as he noticed you for the first time—too busy in his thoughts, you assumed, to notice you earlier.

He seemed to panic for a moment, surprised at your unexpected visit. “What are you doing here?” he asked after a moment’s silence.

Agitation rolled through you, washing away your initial relief at seeing him in one piece. _Those_ were the first words he was going to say to you? “‘ _What am I doing here_?’” you repeated, your voice creeping up into shrill tones. “I could be asking you the same thing!” You crossed over to him in three strides and shoved his shoulder with all your might. “What the _hell_ were you _thinking_? I’ve been distraught for _months_ thinking you were _dead_.” You continued nearly screaming at him, unleashing months’ worth of pain and sorrow. Your anger channeled out through blows to his chest, which he made no motion to stop.

Then he put his arms around you and you nearly collapsed, sobbing into his chest. You held him tight with every ounce of your strength. “I _hate_ you, Matt Murdock.” But there was no truth behind the words. You loved him with every fiber of your being.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @kaylaxwrites


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